The Night Goes On
by KatZen
Summary: Staying true to International Rescue's motto, they never give up, no matter what.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: I know, I know, I should be working on I'm No Superman, but it just doesn't want to come out right now, and I don't think there's any point in forcing it out. So I opened up a Word doco and this is what came out instead. Hope y'all enjoy.**

The Night Goes On

_Staying true to International Rescue's motto, they never give up, no matter what._

The bus trundled down winding road, headlamps illuminating the path ahead. On a dark, moonless night, it was the only light source on the otherwise isolated road that cut a swathe through the mountains. Cloud cover masked the constellations that would have otherwise decorated the sky.

"Teller, are we there yet?" a young child asked from inside the bus, face pressed up against the glass window.

"Not yet, Lizzie. We've got a ways to go. Now be quiet, you'll wake up Mum otherwise."

The girl, no more than seven years old, pouted and went back to staring out of the window. The bus ride through the mountains freaked her out, but as her brother and mother had repeatedly told her, it was the only way to get to the city. It was even more sinister at night, when she couldn't see over the trees, see the blue haze that was so characteristic of the mountain range the bus was travelling through. All Lizzie could see was the edge of the road – but it wasn't even that. If the bus driver inched to right, ever so slightly, they would smash their way through the crash barriers and plummet down into the depths below. Lizzie settled back into her seat. The possibility of a crash was just that; a possible event. There was no certainty that it would come to fruition. She had travelled this route in the daytime at least twice before, and nothing drastic had ever happened, so why should this trip be any different?

Try as she might, she just couldn't shake off her fears. Something that did not bode well for them was going to happen. She could feel it.

* * *

_I need some matchsticks to prop my eyes open,_ he thought as he rubbed at his bleary eyes.

"Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two. Come in, Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two receiving Thunderbird Five, loud and clear. What's up, John?"

From his seat on Thunderbird Five, John squinted at the picture of his brother on his video screen.

"You look like shit, Virg."

"Thanks, John," Virgil bitched sarcastically. "It's nice to talk to you too. What do you want."

More of a statement than a question.

"Thought you'd might like some company after that last rescue."

Virgil considered this. Gordon was down for the count in Thunderbird Four's pod (he would have been flying due to Virgil's fatigue, but Virgil had refused to surrender his seat as pilot of Two), and the chestnut haired pilot didn't know if Scott had even left the rescue sight – the Field Commander had explicitly told Virgil not to contact him, he would get in touch when he was leaving. Why, Virgil had no idea, but who was he to disregard his boss in such a manner?

"Yeah, I could do with that, if only to keep me awake."

"It wasn't a good one, was it, Virg?"

"No, it wasn't."

Why anyone would want to trap over seventy people in a leaking bathysphere and then pour accelerant and light it over the water to effectively hamper conventional rescue efforts was beyond him, but who knew what went on in the minds of twisted, psychopathic killers?

"You guys did your best, you know," John encouraged, despite knowing that it would make little to no difference to Virgil. Losing over half the rescuees was always viewed as a failure in their eyes. There was something that should have been done, that they should have been able to do. Gordon had done some spectacular work in Four, and had he not been there, it was a certainty that everyone else would have perished, but it wasn't enough.

"Well, the best wasn't good enough," Virgil spat out bitterly. He sighed, knowing that half of the driving force behind his outburst was guilt and sorrow for all the people they had lost and the other half was just unadulterated tiredness. "John, Scott's left the rescue site, hasn't he?"

John checked the tracking monitors. "Just left about a four and a half minutes ago. He'll be radioing in soon."

Sure enough, through the radio link, Virgil could hear the static of a broadcast streaming through Five's speakers, and he could just make out Scott's dejected tone. The eldest Tracy boy sounded about as tired as Virgil felt.

"Virg, how long have you been on call?" John asked, jolting Virgil back to reality, as Virgil's mind had started to drift.

"Scott and I are both two hours away from the mandatory rest period, and we're borderline on the flight hour minimums. Gordon hasn't been out on as many rescues as us, so he's a viable member of the team for the next few days while Scott and I are off. That's why I'm not letting him fly; he needs as many hours saved up for use as possible."

"You guys better make it home fast, then," John said, glancing down at the tracking pad. His blond eyebrows quirked upwards, something Virgil didn't miss.

"Everything okay up there, Johnny?"

"Yeah, it's all good. I'm just surprised at how fast Scott's pushing One. He's chewing up those miles and he's about thirty minutes behind you. I've never seen him fly like this before."

"Well, he probably wants a shower, Dad will make him shave despite his protests, and he'll wolf down some food. I know I would; I haven't eaten a proper meal in almost two days. Those liquid packs Brains made for us were good to keep our energy levels up and sustained, but they're no substitute for the real thing."

"Amen to that, little brother." Out of his peripheral vision, John could see lights on his panels flashing. An emergency call was coming in. "Gotta go, Virgil. We've got a call coming through."

Virgil groaned.

"I'll let you know if you're needed, or if Scott can handle this on his own."

"FAB."

With another tired sigh, Virgil allowed the screen to dissolve into static as he deliberated between waking Gordon up or letting him sleep for a while. In the end, he decided that Gordon needed to come up to the cockpit to hear the briefing. Given the current stretch that they were on, it would definitely require the assistance of Two and her crew.

Roused from his catnap, Gordon eased his way into the cockpit, carrying two steaming mugs in his hand. Virgil gratefully accepted one of the mugs of coffee.

"You, Gordon," Virgil began, practically inhaling his beverage, "truly are –"

"God's gift to women and men alike?" Gordon quipped, cutting him off. "Yes, I already know that."

"And so modest too," Virgil added sourly before turning serious. "We've got a potential call out. I want you here for the briefing."

Gordon slurped from his coffee mug as he sat down in Two's co-pilot seat. "Want me to take over flying so that you can get some sleep?"

Virgil declined. "I may need you to drop us off and take Two to get Alan and swap pods, depending on the rescue. If it's a terrestrial one, Four's useless there."

Under normal circumstances, Gordon would have jumped to Thunderbird Four's defence, highlighting the importance of his machine, but this time he simply nodded his understanding.

"Okay, Virg," John broke back into conversation. "You're needed. A bus has overrun a road and has flipped onto its side down a cliff face. It's teetering on an embankment, and there's potential for the bus to slip off the embankment and crash into the ravine below."

Virgil glanced at Gordon. Gordon grimly nodded back before rising up from his chair and heading down to Thunderbird Four. As much as it pained him to do this, he understood Virgil's need for him to dismantle the carbon-fibre tethers Brains had designed from Thunderbird Four. With tensile strength that was four times greater than the tethers that conventional rescue services used, the carbon-fibre ropes could have been used as a stop-gap to secure the bus on the embankment while Gordon took Two back to base to collect the appropriate rescue gear.

"How many people on board, John?"

"Eighty four, including the driver. Seven babies and toddlers, and thirty kids under ten."

"Where are we headed?"

"Blue Mountains, New South Wales, Australia. I've sent the coordinates to the navigation system, as well as some satellite pictures of the rescue site. Scott said that he'd need one of you to go back and switch Pod Four out with the heavy rescue kit and anchorage points to secure the bus."

Virgil glanced down at the satellite photos, swiping through each image with his finger. It was going to be a tough one, he knew. The terrain itself was a challenge, as there was no large piece of flat land that could accommodate Thunderbird Two's bulk safely. The demographics of the passengers on the bus also complicated things; rescues with kids were some of the most rewarding, yet some of the hardest rescues to carry out, simply because they could not predict how the kids would react to them.

"FAB, John. We're on our way." With that, Virgil broke the video link with John and re-corrected his course, flying on into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Thank you for the reviews, they really do mean a lot - sorry, Xenitha, Penny refuses to cooperate for Superman (even in death she's still causing me issues), but it should be out either this week or next. Hopefully. You were all looking forward to this next chapter, so here it is. **

Chapter Two

Landing Thunderbird One had been a bitch. Well, no, that wasn't strictly true. _Finding_ a place to land Thunderbird One had been a bitch; the landing itself was something Scott could have done with his eyes closed. Given how sleep deprived he was, he wondered if he did do it with his eyes closed.

All in all, it was not an ideal situation he was in. He had landed, locked down and armed Thunderbird One about a mile away from the rescue site – it was the closest piece of land that was stable and large enough for him to park on. Consequently, he had made the decision to not set up Mobile Control; all vital communications would have to be rooted up to John this time. Not that John minded, as he felt it gave him a more active role in the rescue.

Scott placed the hover-board on the ground, and arms laden with the essential equipment he needed – this consisted of safety harnesses and helmets, a reel of carbon-fibre rope, all-purpose cutters, a torch and several first aid kits – he stepped onto it, utterly relieved that Brains had been able to adapt the design on the hover-bike so that each Bird (except for Four) could carry a hover vehicle as standard equipment.

The ride to the rescue site did not take long and soon Scott was liaising with the emergency services that had managed to access the rescue site.

"Has the situation changed since we were called in?" Scott asked, noticing the passengers that had managed to free themselves were stumbling around, not knowing where to go or what to do. Many were injured, with lacerations, broken bones and sprains, panicking and stressing over the loved ones that were still inside the bus.

"No, sir," Tim Hallet, the coordinator of the rescue services replied.

"Right, well," Scott continued, taking charge of the situation. Adrenaline kicked in, overpowering the fatigue he felt. "I'll need a triage centre set up as far away from the bus as possible. My colleagues will be here shortly, they'll be able give more assistance. Right now, we need to work on securing the bus so that it doesn't slip further."

"Of course. What can we do to help?"

"I'm gonna need some men to help me anchor the bus down. I've got some tethers here that should hold it in place. Once we've stabilised the bus, I can get in there and give you guys a status report."

There were a few protests from the other emergency crew, as they insisted that they should also be allowed inside the bus to offer assistance as well, but Scott held up a forestalling hand.

"You see how half the bus is hanging over the embankment?" At their nods, Scott continued. "The combined mass of everyone in the bus could be the thing that shifts the centre of gravity that's keeping the bus where it is right now, and it could tip over with all of us inside it. We don't know how stable the ground is either, so we'll keep it to one person as a precaution for now to try and prevent the bus from tipping over."

There was a steely note in Scott's voice that demanded that his orders were to be obeyed.

Unwrapping the carbon-fibre reel, Scott observed the front of the bus and the surrounding landscape. There wasn't much to work with, and it certainly wouldn't be as safe as it could have been if the heavy rescue equipment was there, but improvisation was his forte. The front of the bus had roo bars that the carbon-fibre rope could be thread through and then wrapped around the trees in the environment. It would have to act as a stop gap until Thunderbird Two returned with the right rescue gear, and as a result, Scott had decided that he would be responsible for the uncertainty that came with the set up; if one of the wires snapped while he was still in the bus and the bus fell, he would be the one that went down in it. No one else was going to be injured or killed for the failure of his idea; Scott would bear the brunt of it, as he always did in scenarios like this.

"Scott," John butted in from Scott's wrist watch. Scott had left the video and audio link on so that John could get a first-hand account of what they were facing. "Don't do anything dangerous, okay? Gordon's dropping Virgil off at Thunderbird One. Virg'll be there soon, and Gordon will be back with the right equipment within the hour."

"John, we don't have an hour. If there's any chance for a successful rescue, I have to take my chances and go in now. We have no other options."

With the bus secured as best as they could, Scott stepped into one of the safety harnesses he had with him and entered the bus.

* * *

The pain hit him like a sledge hammer, radiating out from his head and chest. That was how Teller knew he was still alive. It took a while for his brain to catch up with him, but he realised that he was under rubble, lying on his tummy. Blood trickled slowly down the side of his face from a laceration to his right temple, eventually seeping into his mouth. His chest felt like it was on fire, like someone was burning him every time he tried to draw a breath. He could feel nothing of his left leg.

Blinking his eyes open was a bad mistake; straight in front of him was a kid about the same age as him, still and unmoving, head almost severed from their shoulders, held by one sinew of muscle as it lolled around. Just off to the left was a puddle of blood. Above him, electrical wiring sparked, creating brief flashes of stark light in an otherwise dark death trap.

"Lizzie?!" Teller cried out as he dragged himself out with one arm from where he was trapped. He groaned against the pain, but the sight in front of him spurned him on to push past it. He had to check on Lizzie, make sure she was alright. "Lizzie, where are you?"

There was no response, and that terrified Teller no end.

"Lizzie!"

Eerie silence.

"Don't be dead," he muttered, gasping at the pain. "Don't be dead. I'm coming."

The electrical wires shorted again, sparks exploding above his head like fireworks. Teller grimaced against the sudden brightness, but then the darkness came and he grimaced against that too. He wasn't sure which one he preferred. The light shone back into his eyes, except it wasn't coming from above him.

"International Rescue here! Can anyone hear me?"

The light scanned over Teller again.

"I'm here!" Teller yelled out hoarsely. If he could've, he would have raised his arm up and waved to the voice, but it just hurt too much, and to be quite frank, he didn't have the energy to do that either.

"I'm coming," the voice called back. "Is there anyone else back there with you?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

Teller squinted into the darkness, watching the silhouette grow larger as it crawled towards him.

"Hi there. International Rescue. Can you tell me what your name is?"

"Teller."

"Nice to meet you, Teller. I'm Scott." Scott pulled out a second safety harness from the small pack he had carried in with him and fastened Teller into it before tending to the laceration on Teller's forehead.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Sorry, Teller. I didn't mean for it to hurt. Are you injured anywhere else?"

Teller nodded – a bad move with his head injury – and pointed to his chest. Scott had a feel of Teller's rib cage and sighed in relief.

"Okay, the good news is that you haven't had a break where the bones have shifted out of place and punctured your lung, so if the bones have broken, it's probably a crack. The bad news is that I can't tell you that for certain; you'll need an x-ray to see what's happening in there."

"I don't care," Teller stated. "Please, Scott, you've got to get to Lizzie! You've got to find her! She's only seven! She's scared of the dark! You've got to get to her because I can't!"

Scott paused in his medical assessment of Teller. "Teller, look at me."

Reluctant brown eyes bored into determined blue ones.

"Teller, I promise you, I will find Lizzie and any other people that are back there with her. Do you trust me to do that?"

Silence. Teller appraised Scott, measuring his worth.

"I trust you."

"Good man. Teller, I can't move you out of the bus since I haven't got a spinal board with me, and you may have a spinal injury. I move you now and I could create more damage."

"Don't move me," Teller agreed. It was bad enough that he couldn't feel one leg.

"I'm going to have to leave you here while I check the back of the bus. Will you be okay here?"

Teller nodded. What choice did he have?

"I'll keep talking to you and I'll give you my torch. Shine it wherever I'm working so that I can see what I'm doing. Can you do that for me?"

Teller nodded once again.

"Okay. Keep shining it on me." Scott began to crawl away, further into the wreckage, fully aware that the bus had started to wobble slightly.

"Teller, tell me a bit about yourself. What are you interested in? What are your hobbies? How old are you?"

Teller rattled off the information, but Scott didn't really care about the answer. All he wanted to do was distract Teller from the situation they were in.

The bus groaned as Scott made his way into the mangled wreck, placing a knee or an elbow into a limp hand or foot. Dead. Already dead, and they never stood a chance of rescue. Scott had to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Scott could feel the floor – or what was left of it – shake beneath his hands and legs. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

Not good.

Not good at all.

There was nothing Scott could do except brace himself as the bus began the sharp descent off the embankment it had once been resting on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

Chapter Three

Virgil had sprinted onto the rescue site, despite his own tiredness, since time was of the essence in this operation. The chestnut haired man pried grasping hands away from his uniform, promising to assess them as soon as he was fully briefed on what had happened so far. Relieved, the injured passengers backed off, feeling safe and secure in the knowledge that more personnel from International Rescue had arrived. If anyone could help them, it was them.

Honey burnt eyes swiftly took in the scene. It was organised chaos; other emergency services had roles that they needed to fulfil, but there didn't seem to be any clear structure in how they were carrying it out. Scott was nowhere in sight, but John had already told him that Scott had created a rudimentary safety harness for the bus and had climbed inside it to respond to the injured and trapped. Virgil was to join him when he arrived on scene, as long as it was safe to do so.

Quickly, Virgil managed to organise the rescue personnel into groups that seemed compatible with each other, and they proceeded to work like a well-oiled machine. Satisfied with the way things on the surface were falling into place, he stepped into his safety harness, strapped on his helmet and armed himself with a first responder's kit. On a whim - he had no idea why he felt he had to do it, but he did – he glanced up at the bus, just in time to see it teeter on the brink of disaster.

Just in time to see one of the trees the carbon-fibre cables were wrapped around uproot itself under the strain of holding the bus.

Just in time to watch the bus – the bus with his brother inside it – start to slide down the embankment into the ravine below.

Just in time for his heart to perform an amazing feat of gymnastics and leap into his mouth.

* * *

The safety harness Scott had worn jerked against his chest forcefully. No doubt he would have web-rash the next day from the friction burns that would form. Unclipping himself from the railing he had attached onto, Scott tested out his limbs. After being hit by flying debris in the drop, he knew he had to test out his own range of mobility. Apart from a deep gash in his left arm, Scott seemed to be relatively unscathed.

"Teller? You okay?"

There was no response.

"Teller?!"

With trepidation, Scott inched his way up the incline in the bus, scrabbling to keep himself moving against gravity that was threatening to pull him back to where he started. Eventually, he came to the spot where he had left the young teen boy. One arm stuck out from under a mound of suitcases, chairs ripped off the floor, other miscellaneous pieces of metal and flesh that had once been part of the bus and deceased bodies. Gripping the hand that was waving like a flag, Scott began to dig through the mound until he managed to uncover the boy.

"Teller," he said, shaking a still shoulder. "C'mon, wake up for me."

Teller stirred slightly, trying to fight against the person that was attacking him. whoever it was was like an annoying little mosquito buzzing around him, and no matter how much he swatted it away, they kept coming back.

"Teller, open your eyes!"

Drowsily, Teller blinked leaden lids. "Don't wanna go to school today," he mumbled, disoriented.

Scott groaned inwardly. Things had taken a turn for the worse with Teller; along with broken bones and lacerations galore, he was now contending against a suspected concussion.

"Teller, hey," Scott muttered again, scrambling for his emergency pack. It contained several glow sticks that would help emit light so that he could see what he was doing since the torch had been lost in the fall. Snapping a glow stick, Scott could finally see the extent of the damage the bus falling had caused.

Definitely a concussion; Teller's pupils were uneven and unfocused.

"HEY!" Scott all but yelled as the boy's eyelids began to slide shut. "Do not fall asleep! Do you understand?! You cannot fall asleep!"

Teller nodded drowsily, but Scott could see that the boy was fighting a losing battle. There had to be something to keep Teller's brain ticking over, to stop him shutting down.

"Teller, tell me about Lizzie. Is she your sister?"

"Cousin," Teller corrected. "Her mum – my aunt – took me in when I was a baby, so she's my mum as far as I care. Don't go by my given name anymore, so that's why people know me as Teller."

"What's your first name?" Anything to keep the kid talking.

"Leopold. At least, that's what everyone tells me. Don't know me birth mum or dad, so I can't find out for sure."

"Do you want to?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, I think Teller suits you just fine." Scott spared a glance over at Teller and saw the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Okay, you know how I said that I wouldn't move you because you could have a spinal injury?"

Teller nodded slowly, memories breaking through the fog that was swirling around in his mind.

"Change of plan; I'm gonna get you out of here now."

"What about my spine?" Teller protested. He may have been drowsy, confused and a tad disoriented, but he knew himself well enough to know that he would prefer to maximise his chances of being able to feel and use his legs and arms again.

"Whatever happens in the process of getting you out of here is better than what will happen if you stay in here. It's not as stable as I thought it would be, and I'd rather have you out there than in here."

There was no point in arguing, as Scott had a look of utter determination on his face.

"I will try and keep you as immobile as possible," Scott promised Teller. A sudden thought struck him and he activated his watch link with John.

"Go ahead, Scott."

"Is Virgil there yet? I got a potential spinal injury, as well as broken ribs, lacerations, a head injury and a possible concussion. I need him to send a spinal board down. He can't come into the bus; his bulk may just disrupt the bus' centre of gravity and send it over the embankment. I just need him to slide one down; the gradient's steep enough for it to work. Then I need him and some fire crew to start breaking the window that's as close to the edge of stable ground as possible."

The bus lurched again, reminding Scott how precarious the situation was. The lights that were sparking intermittently fizzled out.

"Tell him to hurry. Time is of the essence."

"FAB." With that, John's face dissolved into static, leaving Scott and Teller alone in the green glow that emitted from the glow sticks.

"Lizzie, she's seven, right?" Scott asked, staying by Teller's side until either Virgil or John contacted him to say the spinal board was on its way.

Teller blinked sleepily up at Scott. "Yeah. Not your average seven year old, though. More like seven going on seventeen, but still afraid of the dark. And strangers. When you get to her, tell her I know you, okay? She'll be more relaxed with you if she knows that I trust you."

"I'll remember that." Scott didn't voice his concerns that Lizzie may not be in a condition for him to say that. He did not inform Teller that many people would be coming out of the bus in body bags, and that Lizzie may have been one of them. After all, he had not heard or seen any other signs of life on the bus, but then again, he hadn't really looked after the bus jerked back; his concern had been on Teller since then.

John interrupted, sending a message to Scott to say that the spinal board was on its way. Moments later, Scott could make out the flat board sliding haphazardly down the floor of the bus. He lunged for it, grabbing onto it with the tip of his boot before dragging it up with his leg. The gradient of the slope of the bus and the force of gravity were really working against him.

Teller bit back the scream and the string of curse words that threatened to break loose from his lips as Scott rolled him onto the board. A neck brace was added, and as Scott loomed over him, securing things, strapping him down, Teller stared straight up into blue eyes, unwavering, unblinking.

"Scott, you will find Lizzie, won't you? Promise me you'll find her alive."

Such was the hope of a fourteen year old.

"I promise I will find her, Teller."

It did not escape Teller's notice that Scott did not use the word alive.

With one last check to make sure everything was secured as it should be, Scott unclipped his safety harness and began the slow ascent up the bus, pushing Teller along in front of him.

* * *

Virgil hefted the axe over his shoulder and swung it against the window, throwing his weight behind it. The laser system was part of the pod system Gordon had gone to retrieve, so Virgil had suggested using canisters of oxyhydnite to cut their way through. John had nixed the idea, saying that since there had been reports of the fuel tank leaking, any open flame near the scene could have resulted in disaster.

"I quite like Scott as he is, not crispy fried," John had quipped, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Virgil had been wound up tighter than a coiled spring, and John knew that he had to get Virgil to loosen up a bit – the more stressed he was, the more prone he was to making silly mistakes, and with Scott and other passengers on the bus, that wasn't something John was going to take any chances with.

Virgil swung again, hitting the sweet spot on weakened glass, causing cracks to form like varicose veins on taut skin.

_One more swing could do it, should do it._

Virgil could see movement from the inside of the bus, could just make out Scott's dark hair, then forehead, then eyes pop up near the window. The younger man waved him away, gesturing to the axe in his hand, making a swinging motion and Scott understood. The chestnut haired man waited until Scott had backed away a little, and crouched over the person he was bringing out before attacking the glass, letting the shards rain down on the inside.

"Good to see you, Scott," Virgil called out, hands outstretched to lift the spinal board through. There was a dark splodge on his brother's sleeve. Blood, no doubt. "You okay, bro?"

"Yeah, yeah, bit bruised and cut up, but I'm fine," Scott replied quietly, knowing that he couldn't lie to Virg. Of all the people in the world, only his father and his brother knew when he was trying to pull a fast one. "This is Teller; he's been stable since the last report I gave you. No pain meds given, not even Panadol. I just tried to make him as comfortable as possible."

"Scott?" From the spinal board, Teller glanced at Scott. "Lizzie. Don't forget her, okay?"

Scott nodded. "I'll go to her now."

"I'm coming with you," Virgil stated, grabbing his gear, ready to climb through the window.

"No, you are not," Scott corrected, half leaning out of the window to push him away. "The bus is unstable as it is, and out in the field, I'm responsible for you; I'm not returning back to Base with you injured or worse."

_Oh, so it's okay for you to risk your life, Scott, but it's not okay for me to do the same thing? Hypocrite._

Virgil quashed the inner bitch inside of him and eyeballed his brother. "And that is precisely why I'm coming with you. You may be responsible for me, but that's a two way street; I'm responsible for you too."

Scott sighed. Virgil was stubborn at times, just like their mother, unyielding when they believed that they were right and everyone else was wrong.

"Virg, stay out of here, please? If the bus slips again, I'll need you on the outside to help secure it."

"Scott, the bus is at a 45 degree incline. If the bus slips again, there won't be any way to secure it."

It was a sobering moment as they both realised, once again, how fleeting life was. Here one minute, possibly gone the next.

Not wanting to waste time arguing with Virgil, Scott turned on his heel and headed down to the back of the bus. Virgil took account of the situation – one victim out, with more still trapped. The bus, however, was definitely in a worse condition than when he had first arrived. The metal shell of the vehicle was fatigued, splitting from the bend where it was hanging, metal edges curling back in on itself.

_Definitely not going to last long,_ Virgil reasoned as he stepped into his harness. _The more I can help Scott now, the better off everyone'll be._

With the rush of adrenaline that came from disobeying a direct order from his Field Commander, Virgil clambered through the window.

Climbing into a rescue site was always a stark, blunt experience; no two sites were ever the same, but they all seemed to share common factors. The toxic smell of blood, wreckage, body parts, and death seemed to be the most overpowering of them all. As he stared down into the darkness of the back of the bus, where he knew his brother was, Virgil wondered what horror lurked within.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

Chapter Four

The intestine he had accidentally stood in squished beneath his boot. Grimacing, and wincing an apology to whoever that had once been, Virgil lifted his foot out of the entrails. Too dark to have seen it and avoided it until it was too late.

_Godsake, Tracy, show some respect for the dead._

Virgil had seen devastation on a large scale before, but not quite like this; the other scenes of carnage had been engineered by mankind, mainly through acts that were designed to scare the living hell out of society, or as Virgil preferred to think of it, acts of stupidity. The more he saw, the more he lost faith in the power of humanity.

But this… this was different. This had been an accident. No one was at fault, and yet people had still suffered. People had still died. Virgil wondered about them; did they know that this was going to be their last night? Did they live life as though there was no tomorrow or did they bask in the futility of it all?

Chasing away the morbid thoughts – they always seemed to crop up on rescues on a catastrophic scale – Virgil snapped a glow stick, unclipped his harness and stumbled down.

Clip.

Another body.

Unclip and step forward.

Decapitated head.

Clip.

Pool of blood.

Unclip.

Coagulated, sticky mess. Residual body fluids.

Clip.

A baby, no more than four months old, ribs crushed by the metal fasteners that had once secured seats in place. Eyes wide open in the green glow, staring into a future that held absolutely nothing of worth.

Unclip.

Blinked back tears. Crying, grieving, mourning the loss of those that had long gone could wait. Right now, he and his brother had a job to do.

Virgil had no idea how he made it down that far; he was not like Scott, he had not hardened to seeing any of this, but eventually, he reached his older brother. Unsure of what to do – Scott would be spitting bullets since he disobeyed a direct order from the field – Virgil hovered over his brother, waiting for an update. It had taken a lot for Virgil to make it down this far instead of turning around and walking out, so he was prepared to take the rollicking he was sure he was going to get from Scott.

"Got a spinal board, Virg?"

Glad of the reprieve, Virgil rummaged around in the first responders kit had had carried in with him. "I've got about ten compact ones. It should keep them until we can get them out to the paramedics."

"I don't think we'll use that many. Three, maybe four at the most."

The bus groaned, bending at the point where the embankment ended and the sky began. Metal rivets popped out, each rivet bouncing to the ground with an ominous sound. The ground from beneath them slipped a bit more, and Virgil steadied himself against Scott, who in turn steadied himself by pushing against the side of the capsized bus. They waited for the bus to stabilise itself again – Physics had a way of working their way, just when they needed it to – before re-evaluating the situation they had placed themselves in.

"We're tight on time, Scott," Virgil pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily. After all, Scott was there too; he could make that leap himself.

"Spinal board, Virg," Scott reminded his little brother. "Prepare no more than four; we won't have enough space for more than that."

Virgil acquiesced as Scott resumed the search for survivors. As soon as he had organised the spinal boards so that there was enough room for them to move around if needed, Virgil knelt down beside his brother and helped him sift through the wreckage.

"Do you…" Virgil trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to continue, before plunging on ahead recklessly. "Do you think we'll actually find anyone alive?"

A half-hearted shrug of the shoulders from Scott. "We have to try, otherwise we'll never know. Besides, what does it say about us if there are survivors and we just left them here?"

The continued to dig, feeling around, flinging bags away from them and slowly moving the deceased bodies further up the bus, watching the collection of bodies mount with sad eyes. Not the most dignified way of storing them, but it was the best they could do for now. The bus shrieked and shuddered with every move Scott and Virgil made, threatening to buckle and tip them over into the abyss, but never quite following through on that. Luck, it seemed, was holding out for them right now. Scott wondered how long it would last, but then he reasoned that it was better not to tempt fate.

A moment of rare silence, as Virgil insisted that they stay hydrated and sipped from water bottles. That was when they heard it.

A quaver of panic in a pitiful moan.

For them, the sound of hope.

"You hear that, Virg?" Scott asked, stashing his water bottle so he could get stuck back in.

There was no reply from Virgil, as he had followed the sound and was rummaging through the rubble.

"International Rescue at your service. We're going to help you get out of here," Virgil smiled once he had broken through. Honey-burnt eyes skirted over her, taking stock of the injuries she had sustained. "Spinal board, Scott. Might want to hook her up with a portable O2, heart and blood pressure monitor, just in case."

With the ease of having done this numerous times before, Scott and Virgil managed to slip a board under her back and secure her to it before hooking the board to their safety harnesses. It may have hampered their range of mobility, but in their current situation – where the bus could tilt at any moment and send more debris back down their way – Scott thought that it was prudent for their survivor to be close to them at all times. After all, he didn't want a repeat of what happened with Teller – where the boy had been buried under baggage again – to happen to this person.

"Kiddo," Virgil shook her gently by the shoulder, aware of the bone that had pierced through her skin. "Can you tell us your name?"

"Lizzie," she gasped out, eyes darting around the bus, cowering slightly at the stranger in front of her, baulking at the dark. Swallowing her fears, trying to be brave, she stared Virgil straight in his eyes. "Teller, my mum…"

"My bro-" Virgil caught himself just in time. "My colleague already found and evacuated Teller."

Out from the shadows, Scott crouched down beside Lizzie and brushed strands of hair out of her eyes. "Hey, Lizzie, how you doing?" Scott didn't wait for her to answer and he pressed on. "Teller wouldn't let me leave without you, so we didn't. We got Teller out of here, so we're going to get you out of here too, okay?"

"How is Teller?"

"He should recover nicely. Now, Lizzie, can you tell me where it hurts?"

Marina pointed to her head, her stomach, her hip and her heart. She muttered something about the need to vomit. Virgil shot a look at Scott, a language they had perfected over the years they had spent working together, and in tandem, they rolled her to one side.

"Sorry," she muttered, wiping at the side of her mouth. It was a sign of weakness to her, and she couldn't be weak. Not now, not like this.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Scott reassured her as they gently righted her. "Now, Lizzie, you think you can do an important job for us?" He had remembered that Teller had told him that Lizzie was afraid of the dark, so it was up to him to try and keep that fear at bay. After all, the calmer she was, the better.

"Think so."

"Reckon you could hold this glow stick for us? We need to have a bit of a scout around, and we'll need our hands free for that."

Glad to be of some assistance, and glad not to be in the dark anymore, Lizzie accepted the glow stick.

The boys couldn't move too far, since they had attached themselves to the spinal board, but the lack of mobility was of little consequence. Virgil shook his head at Scott. Scott shook his head at Virgil. There were clearly no more survivors.

The bus groaned again as they moved. The ground lurched out from under their feet, and that was how Scott knew that their luck had run out. The last of the rivets holding the bus together popped free. Metal skin peeled away, curling upwards at the edges, cleaving the back of the bus from the front. Scott, Virgil, and Lizzie had a millisecond to react, a millisecond to brace themselves as the back of the bus launched off the embankment, free falling into the ravine below.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

Chapter Five

When Scott was six, his favourite game to play with his brothers on a rainy day was Hide-n-Seek. John and Virgil, at four and a half and three years old respectively, followed Scott's lead and it was their favourite game too. The modest two storey home they lived in was perfect; not too big, so the game couldn't go on for ages, but there were enough nooks and crannies for even a lanky six year old to hide in.

One day, when rain was pelting down outside, the three brothers had reverted to playing their game of choice, if only to escape from crippling boredom. It was Johnny's turn to face the corner and count to fifty while Scott and Virgil scrambled to a hiding place. At three, Virgil predictably went to his hiding spot – the shower in the bathroom under the stairs, as usual – and waited. Both Johnny and Scotty were aware that Virgil was a creature of habit, and wouldn't hide anywhere else, but they played along with him, waiting a respectable amount of time before they found him. Neither one of them had the heart to ruin the game for the little boy.

Scott, on the other hand, was a bit more resourceful than a three year old, as he should be considering he was twice as old. This time, Scott had found himself in the kitchen. The cabinets were filled with plates, pots and pans, and his Mom had forbidden him from touching the stove or oven, no matter what the circumstances were, so hiding in the oven was not an option. Inquisitive blue eyes scanned the kitchen desperately. The washing machine – where the lid to the top loader was raised – was an open invitation. Glancing around, Scott tumbled head first into the stainless steel drum. Cotton bed sheets cushioned his fall, and he crouched under the sheets, congratulating himself on his hiding spot. There was no way John would find him there.

It seemed that he had hidden himself too well, for when his mother came back to the washing machine; she did not notice that her six year old son was in there. Instead, she simply poured some fabric softener into the load and started the machine. Initially, it wasn't so bad, as it was only water that was filling up. Scott had learnt how to swim, or at the very least, keep his head above water, so that wasn't a problem; he wasn't afraid of drowning. It must have been a half-load, since the water had only reached his chest. Then it turned into a rollercoaster ride, agitating him left and right. Soap suds streamed into his eyes and all he could do was screw them shut. Couldn't even rub at them since his hands were soapy too. His jeans got caught on the fins of the machine, and his head bounced against the locked lid, an audible thunk as solid bone hit solid steel. Johnny was sure to find him with the amount of noise he had made. His arm hit the side of the machine, as did his legs.

It came to a stop suddenly, and as Scott fought to get his bearings, he pushed his way through the lid of the washing machine. Even with his eyes shut, he knew his mom was there; she had a presence that could be felt before he had even seen her.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, Scott Tracy?!" she roared, but Scott didn't care. Even facing her wrath was better than being trapped in the Spin Cycle of Doom. "How many times have I told you not to touch things in the kitchen?! You could have drowned! You could have died! Don't think your father isn't going to hear about this!"

Six year old Scott took the rollicking, even as his mother hefted him out of the washing machine and held him tight. Six year old Scott reciprocated, squeezing her back, holding on for dear life, instead of letting his arms dangle by his side like overcooked spaghetti.

Opening his eyes, Scott wondered if there was any difference from being a six year old that had been stuck in a washing machine to a twenty-six year old, scrambling for purchase against a rock face as he tumbled out of the gaping hole in the middle of the bus, dragging Lizzie and Virgil, two dead weights, behind him.

* * *

Gordon had finally managed to reach Base and he sprinted through the hanger to get to Command and Control. His stomach growled and Kyrano magically appeared at his side, handing him sliced up fruit and some water. Gordon accepted it gratefully with a smile and shoved an apple slice into his mouth.

"Any more news, John?"

"Situation's worsened," John confirmed grimly. "The bus cleaved in two; half of it was secured to the embankment while the other half has fallen down into the crevice. Local authorities have scoured through what's left of the bus on the embankment, looking for any signs of life there."

"Where were Scott and Virgil?" Gordon, always one to cut to the chase, demanded, stealing the words out of Jeff's mouth.

"Their last known position tracks them to the back of the bus," John admitted quietly, closing his eyes, wanting to spare them the pain of potential loss.

"And where are they now?" Jeff spoke up, eyes boring holes into his second eldest.

John's brow furrowed as he studied the data that was being transmitted to him from Scott and Virgil's watches. "I'm not sure. I'm getting some very odd readings."

"Such as?"

"Their heart rate's elevated, almost like they're suffering from tachycardia, their adrenal glands seem to be working overtime since their blood is pretty much a cocktail of hormones and the velocity in which they're travelling is extremely fast. If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone had shoved them into a tumble dryer and turned it on."

Gordon had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did not feel like eating anymore, so he placed the plate down on his father's desk.

"Dad?" Alan ventured, back straightening against the back of the sofa he had been lounging on.

"The washing machine incident," Jeff muttered. Scott would be fine; he had been through something like this before when he was six. Gordon and Alan stared at him incredulously. The statement made no sense to them.

"We don't know anything for certain yet," Jeff responded gruffly, trying to keep it together. It wouldn't do for him to fall apart just yet, not when he needed to be in control, in command of the way they would proceed from there. With the push of a button on his desk, Jeff called Brains away from his lab.

"Y-y-yes, Mr T-T-Tracy?"

Jeff held up the print out of data that John had sent through, waving it in front of the bespectacled man's face. Brains pulled it out of Jeff's lax fingers and stared at it, incomprehensible expression on his face. Hurriedly, he pulled off his blue frames, cleaned them on the tails of his shirt, placed them back on the bridge of his nose and stared some more.

"Well?" Jeff demanded. "Is it a malfunction?"

"That is, uh, a possibility," Brains began, only to be cut off by Alan.

"But you don't really believe that, do you?"

"No," Brains admitted quietly, momentarily losing his stutter. "No, I do not. The r-readings are as accurate as they ever were."

Jeff nodded. His eyes shot to Gordon, unblinking, unwavering. Gordon looked back. A whole conversation conveyed, without a single word being uttered. Gordon nodded, grabbed Alan by the scruff of his neck and led him off to Thunderbird Two's hanger.

"Listen, Alan," Gordon said, marching around Thunderbird Two so that he could perform his pre-flight external examination of the machine. "I know what you're like on rescues, and on this one, I really need you to follow my lead."

Alan pouted; this sounded like it was going to turn into a righteous-older-brother lecture. Besides, he always followed instructions on rescues, except for when he didn't.

"If I say jump, Alan, what are you going to do?"

"Say how high?" Alan snarked back, sarcastically. Jeez, this wasn't his first rescue mission. Wrong time to make a joke, though, even if it was with Gordon.

"You jump, Alan." There was a bite in Gordon's voice that told Alan that he had overstepped some imaginary boundary. "Now go check the Pod, make sure everything we need is in there and then some."

As Alan trotted off to do Gordon's bidding, Gordon found himself climbing up into Thunderbird Two's pilot seat. A traitorous idea crawled through his head, and Gordon wondered if Virgil would sit back in his seat again. The red head shook his head violently to try and rid himself of such thoughts; of course Virgil would be able to fly his Bird again. It would take more than a bus crash to keep the stubborn, ornery and pig-headed brother out of his beloved craft.

The engines to the behemoth hummed as they warmed up and Gordon continued his pre-flight checks. Thunderbird Two had had fuel removed from its tanks to make it as light as possible; this would reduce the amount of time it would take to fly to the rescue site by a tiny amount, but every second they saved in the air could be used to their benefit.

"All set?" Alan asked, strapping himself into the passenger seat.

"All set. Base Control, this is Thunderbird Two, requesting take off clearance."

"Thunderbird Two, you are cleared to take off." A pause. "Bring them back, boys."

Those were orders worth obeying.

"FAB."


End file.
